21. Drama
Jonathan wasn’t around in the morning. Neither was my mother. I was still too upset to face either of them.
My mother returned around noon with a shopping bag in her hand.
"I'm really sorry," she said unable to meet my eyes as she set the shopping bag on the couch next to me. She hesitated a moment, fidgeting with her hands and shifting uncomfortably. Without saying anything more, she turned and went up to her room.
I watched after her until she disappeared, then opened the bag and pulled out a green sweater. It wasn't the same one. But that wasn't the point.
"Thanks," I said from the entrance of her bedroom as she folded clothes from the laundry basket and stuffed them into her drawers.
"Are you mad at me?" She sounded small and fragile.
"No," I returned with a small smile.
"Can I still go to the game tonight?" Her blue eyes were big and sorrowful; her lower lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout.
"Yes," I laughed lightly at her comical expression―reminiscent of a child getting caught for coloring on the walls.
“Great! What are you doing after the game tonight?” My mother asked, her voice suddenly peppy and excited.
“Uh, I’m not sure,” I fumbled, still not used to the quick flip of her moods. “Jill and Casey were talking about going to a party; Sarah’s at Cornell again visiting Jared. But Evan and I haven’t made any commitments.”
I leaned against the door frame.
“You can come in,” my mother encouraged, hanging up her clothes in the closet.
I hadn’t really seen my mother’s room before. It was always dark when I'd entered to help her to bed. It was simply decorated with white curtains hanging on the windows. The leaf patterned comforter splayed across her bed was still rumpled, as if she'd made it by pulling the comforter over the distressed sheets.
A dresser with a mirror sat across from the bed with necklaces dangling from the mirror’s edges. Perfume bottles and rings were scattered on its scratched surface. A framed picture caught my eye.
“I’m not sure what to wear tonight,” she sighed.
“It’s just a basketball game, so jeans work,” I advised, picking up the frame to examine it more closely. It wasn’t a picture at all, but a drawing done in pencil. The shading and detailing were phenomenal. I brought it closer to inspect the strokes of the artist’s work.
“Yeah, but I'm hoping―” She stopped to watch me. I quickly set the portrait down, afraid that I’d upset her by touching her things.
“You can look at it,” she encouraged.
I picked up the frame again and looked from the drawing to her, realizing it was my mother captured in a laugh, done before the stress around her eyes and lines around her mouth had formed. Her happiness was evident. I couldn’t help but smile looking at it.
“You don’t remember that drawing, do you?” she asked, studying me. My eyes twitched, puzzled by her question. “Your father drew that, back before you were born. You used to stare at that picture all the time when you were little.”
“I did?”
“Derek drew pictures for you too. You’d sit at the kitchen table and he’d ask what your favorite part of the day was, and then he’d draw it for you. You had his drawings plastered all over your room. Don’t you remember?”
I scanned the floor, searching my memory, wanting to recall the moments she spoke of. I could hear laughter, and catch a glimpse of his face, but the memories refused to form. I shook my head, knitting my brows together in frustration.
“Do you remember anything?” my mother inquired, her tone was careful. She examined my confused face like she was just as confounded. "You mean you don't... remember... What I went through when... Why you had to go..."
I was unable to follow her cryptic sentences. She shook her head slowly and stared into the distance, or perhaps the past. She closed her eyes and swallowed, then composed herself easily, not a trace of distress left upon her face.
“Want to go out to dinner before the game? It’s at seven, right?”
I couldn't answer for a moment. Completely confused by what I'd just witnessed. “Yes it is. And sure, why not.” I tried to smile but faltered, still disturbed by the sheen in her eyes that she was trying to smile away. I decided not to ask what I should be remembering. Not today.
“I should get some homework done since Evan and I are going hiking tomorrow. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
“Okay,” she replied, going back to her closet.
I closed my door and sat on my bed, replaying the stunned look on her face when she realized I couldn't remember anything. I'd never been aware of how little I could recall from my childhood. I was always so determined to focus on my future and getting out of Weslyn. I'd held on to the feelings of being safe and happy for so long. That had always been enough for me. But now, I wanted to remember. Somehow it was important that I figure out what happened in the blank spaces of my life.
I opened my closet and reached for the stack of pictures under my sweatshirts on the shelf. I laid them on my bed and returned to my door to slide the lock in place, concerned how my mother would react if she saw I'd kept the pictures she’d smashed at the bottom of the stairs.
I sat on my bed and slowly flipped through the images. There was a photo of my father holding me right after I was born; another of me on his lap while sitting on the rocking chair, holding a book. I ran my finger along his cheering face, as we kicked a soccer ball back and forth. He looked so happy. We looked so happy. My mother wasn’t in a single picture. I could only assume she was the one taking them.
There were others of the two of them, laughing and obviously in love. I expected to see a wedding picture, but there wasn't one. I figured she'd kept those safe somewhere, or I hoped anyway.
After examining every detail of each photo, I lay back on my bed and shut my eyes. I tried to conjure up an image, begging for the vault to open. But nothing came―not a single moment. I sighed in frustration and slid the photos back under the sweatshirts.
I went downstairs and turned on the television, but my focus kept drifting toward the rocking chair. I did remember the chair―that was something. I thought of the picture of my father reading to me in it, and tried to picture the actual moment. Nothing.
“Ready?”
I jumped, suddenly pulled out of my head. My mother slid her arms in her coat, studying me oddly.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, trying to read my face.
“Nothing.” I shook my head. Maybe it was better not to remember.
I noted my mother’s choice of a tight denim mini skirt with leggings. She did take my advice to wear jeans, but not quite in the way I’d hoped. Considering her daring attire, I hoped I could convince her to sit in the parents’ section, although that wasn’t exactly a gossip-free zone either.
For dinner, we ended up at a small crowded pub, where college basketball games on the screens incited spontaneous hollers from the patrons.
"I don't know if Jonathan's coming tonight," she told me after ordering a beer from the overly-friendly server. Her face was drawn as she stared at the menu. "I was so awful last night."
"He told me about going to USC in the fall," I consoled. "I'm sure that was hard for you. I know how much you like him."
"I thought I fell for him," she admitted, setting down her menu with a sigh. "I don't know. I'm so confused. A part of me wants to end it and move on since it's going to end anyway. But the other part knows how much I'll miss him, and if I can still be with him for five more months, then why not?" She looked to me in expectation. "What do you think I should do?"
I hesitated, not sure what to say. "Whatever will make you happiest," I finally offered.
"That sounds easier than it is," she sighed. "It's going to hurt either way. I hope he comes tonight. I apologized to him like a million times today. He said he'd try, but he has a project due at work, so he wasn't sure if he could make it.
"And I'm sorry about accusing you of... you know."
I took a sip of my water, hoping we were going to avoid that part of last night.
“It’s just that I know you two get along. I hear you talking and laughing in the middle of the night. Sometimes I think he waits to hear you get up before he goes downstairs―like he doesn't even try to sleep. I know that sounds paranoid and crazy. I mean, you're my daughter, and...”
“He wouldn't do that,” I consoled, freaked by her jealous thoughts. "Besides, we really don't talk about anything interesting, I swear. Maybe you should ask him... you know, about his nightmare."
"I've tried." She paused to let the server set our burgers in front of us. "Does he tell you what it's about?"
I shook my head.
“He’s been distant lately. I think I screwed up and he's not going to want to be with me, not even for the short time before he leaves. I mean, we haven’t had sex in over a week.”
I about choked up the bite of cheeseburger I’d just swallowed.
"Sorry," she grimaced. "That was probably too much information."
"A little," I admitted with a cough.
When we arrived at the school Jonathan wasn’t there, as my mother had anticipated. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her to sit away from the students’ section after watching her face drop when she received Jonathan’s text.
“He’s running late,” she muttered, dropping her phone into her purse. “I know he's not coming.”
“Maybe he didn’t get what he needed done for work yet,” I offered, trying to cheer her up. My words bounced right off as if they were never said.
We bought sodas at the concession stand and made our way to the bleachers.
“Hey, Rachel!” a few voices hollered.
“Hi, Mark! Hi, James!” she yelled back with a bright smile, her sullen mood masked instantly.
“You know people?” I questioned in disbelief.
“Where do you think I sit during your games?”
“Oh,” I mouthed, never considering it before. I was shocked when more faces recognized her. She knew more people in my school than I did.
“Hi, Rachel,” Casey burst out, cutting across the bleachers to get to us, with Jill right behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching Evan,” my mother explained. Casey nodded like it made sense.
“Hey, Emma,” Jill greeted, sitting next to Casey, who opted to sit next to my mother. I was starting to feel like a stranger even amongst my friends―who evidently preferred my mother over me.
“Where’s Jonathan?” Jill asked, making my eyes widen.
My mother shrugged evasively, not looking away from the court as they were about to tip the ball. The cheering erupted around us as the ball flew into the air.
She chanted along with the rest of the school, like she was just another student. I was a spectator, not only to the game, but to my mother’s popularity―it was beyond strange.
As the half progressed, she became more boisterous and made remarks that sent those around her into fits of laughter. I grew suspicious as she became more verbal. Something was off. Her popularity grew the more vocal she became. The boys scooted in around her. I would have been nudged out my position next to her if I wasn’t her daughter.
During halftime, my mother disappeared into the bathroom with Casey and Jill. I followed a few minutes later to find her dumping the contents of her flask into their fountain sodas. Her flagrant personality suddenly made sense―I should've known better.
“Casey, you were supposed to lock the door,” Jill scolded with a huff.
“Sorry,” Casey responded guiltily. “But it’s just Emma.”
My mother watched for my reaction. "You're not mad, right?"
I looked from one face to the other as they waited for me to say something. I shook my head and stepped into the first stall without a word. I leaned against the wall and listened as they giggled and Casey gushed about some cute boy sitting behind them.
"Do you want us to wait for you?" my mother called out.
"No, it's okay," I responded, trying to keep my voice steady. My insides were a slithering mess. I couldn't believe I'd caught my mother feeding my friends alcohol so they could get drunk together. I took a breath and tried to clear my head, to think of how to keep this from escalating out of control.
I pulled out my phone and sent Jonathan a text, Are you still coming?
If Jonathan didn’t show up, then I knew my mother would just keep drinking, and the more she drank, the more unpredictable she'd become. This was going to be horrible.
My phone beeped. On my way. There in 15.
I contemplated waiting for him so I wouldn’t have to return to the bleachers alone. In the end, I trudged back to my seat beside my inebriated mother and her giggling clique. I kept glancing over at them, watching as they laughed and gossiped.
Finally, I saw Jonathan along the sideline, scanning the bleachers to find us. My mother stood and waved frantically, making her easy to spot. He climbed the steps closest to me and excused himself across the row. I scooted over so he could sit between me and my mother.
Before he could say anything, she leaned over and kissed him. He pulled back in surprise.
“What?” she snapped as he pulled his brows together.
“Are you drunk?”
She shrugged with a smirk.
“At a high school basketball game? Really, Rachel?” Jonathan didn’t even try to sugarcoat his disapproval.
My mother huffed with a roll of her eyes. “What happened to you? You used to be fun.” She turned her back to him and started cheering along with the girls.
Jonathan turned toward me. “So, what happened?”
I shrugged. “She’s afraid you don't care about her anymore.”
“Why?” he questioned emphatically. “Because I had to work?”
I didn't answer, and sunk further into the bleachers―not sure how to make this whole thing go away.
My mother reached into her purse and took out her mini Altoids tin.
“Are you serious?” Jonathan accused as she popped a pill in her mouth.
“Well, if you’re not going to be any fun, then I need something to make me happy.”
“What was that?” I asked, having seen her pop the little white pills too many times to count, without really knowing what they were. Jonathan only shook his head in disgust.
He observed her silently as she grew more and more enthusiastic, drawing more attention. His jaw set and the tendons in his neck tightened.
About five minutes later he muttered angrily, “I'm sorry, Emma, but I can’t― I can’t do this.” Jonathan stood up and passed by me toward the steps.
“Where are you going?” my mother yelled after him. He didn’t look back. I could only watch after him in shock as he paced down the sideline and out the gym doors.
“Where is he going?” she demanded in a panic.
“I don’t know,” I replied uneasily.
“Make him stop,” she pled, about to cry. “Please, Emma, you have to stop him from leaving.”
She sniffled and her eyes flickered, coated with tears.
“Okay, okay,” I comforted desperately. “I’ll stop him.”
Jill turned toward my mother and her smile changed to a look of concern. "Rachel, what's wrong?"
"Please help her calm down," I begged Jill before I rushed down the steps and out of the gym. Jonathan was nearing the exit when I caught up with him.
“Jonathan!” I called after him. He turned at the sound of my voice. “Where are you going?”
He waited for me to near before he said, “Emma, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be responsible for her every time she gets paranoid and emotional.” He sounded defeated, releasing a heavy breath.
“Please don’t leave,” I begged. “If you do, I am so afraid she’s going to make a huge scene, and I don’t know how to handle that.”
Jonathan hesitated, deciding what to do. My stomach was a mess just thinking about the potential breakdown my mother was on the verge of having in front of the entire school.
“Are you leaving me?” my mother asked from behind us. “I knew you were.”
“Rachel, stop,” Jonathan stated firmly. “Not here.”
“Then where? What does it matter where it happens? I know you don't want to be with me anymore, no matter what you said last night.”
“Mom, let me drive you home,” I urged. “I’ll get our jackets.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, stumbling slightly as she took a few steps toward Jonathan. I remained still, frozen by her harsh tone. Her eyes watered as she took another step in Jonathan’s direction. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you too.”
“Let Emma drive you home,” he requested lowly, glancing toward me to make sure I was still okay with driving her. I nodded slightly. “I’ll meet you there and we’ll talk. Okay?”
“Why can’t I leave with you?” she sulked, starting to sniffle.
“I know you’ll want to talk as soon as we get in the truck, and I can’t. I’ll meet you at the house where we can sit down and talk.” Before she could say another word, he left. Tears started draining from my mother’s eyes. I sighed and tried to remain composed, despite the crushing feeling in my chest.
I texted Jill to hold on to our jackets. I’d get them from her later.
“Come on,” I encouraged softly, not sure if I should touch her or not. “Let’s go.”
She trailed after me to the car. Her legs lazily crossed in front of each other as her balance waivered.
My mother stared out the window the entire ride to the house. I kept my eyes on the road, not wanting to watch her suffer beside me. Jonathan’s truck awaited us in the driveway when I pulled in. I hesitated to get out of the car, watching her stumble up the steps.
I really wanted to leave, to not witness what was about to happen. But I couldn't. I had to be here for her, no matter what happened. I pulled out my phone to text Evan, Had to drive my mother home. Sorry I missed you―call me when you can.
The cool temperature started settling in around me, so I took a deep breath and headed into the house. As soon as I opened the door, I wished I hadn’t.
“This isn’t going to work,” Jonathan told her. “How do you expect me to talk to you if you’re going to continue to drink?”
“Fine,” my mother yelled, throwing the wine glass on the floor, shattering it and spraying red wine all over. “I won’t drink.”
The shattering glass paralyzed me with the door handle still in my grasp.
“Rachel!” Jonathan hollered. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I quietly shut the door behind me. But I wasn’t quiet enough.
“She’s what’s wrong with me,” my mother pointed. My eyes widened as I looked from my mother's finger to Jonathan's disgusted stance, his hands on his hips. I opened my mouth in confusion, not understanding what I'd done to warrant the spiteful look on her face.
“This has nothing to do with Emma, so don’t even start.”
“Why do you keep calling her that?” she snapped. “Her name is Emily. And she's going to take you away too, just like him.” Her words cut into me like slicing barbs. I had no idea where the hostility was coming from, but it was incapacitating. I remained frozen, unable to find the words to soothe her or defend myself.
“You’re not making any sense,” Jonathan argued. “I’m not staying here to listen to this.” Jonathan walked toward the door.
I had nearly made it to the top step when more glass shattered in the kitchen.
“What the f*ck, Rachel?!” Jonathan turned quickly at the sound. “You don’t throw a fit every time you don’t get your way.”
“Don’t leave,” she whimpered, followed by the sound of glass crunching.
“Don’t move,” he urged. “You’re stepping on glass.”
Jonathan disappeared into the kitchen and emerged carrying my mother in his arms, her head resting on his chest and her face slicked with tears.
“Will you stay?” she slurred. Jonathan didn’t answer, but continued up the stairs and into her room.
I exhaled, my chest tight from the tension that consumed the house. I considered following after him to help her into bed, but I couldn't bring myself to face her. Instead I crept down the stairs to investigate the mess. I stopped in the doorway, scanning the kitchen with a shake of my head. Trying to avoid the wine that covered most of the floor, I carefully stepped over the shards of broken glass and pieces of the wine bottle. As I reached for the broom, my phone rang.
I pulled it out to see Evan’s name displayed. I took a deep breath before answering, “Hi.”
“Hey. Got your text. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. “My mother and Jonathan got into another fight, so I had to drive her home. She was overly dramatic as usual, so I had to listen to her go off for a while. Sorry I didn’t get to see you after the game.”
“Are you sure you're okay?”
"Yeah, I'm fine. She's about to go to bed now anyway, all talked out." My stomach turned at my lie. “Can I meet you at your place in a little bit? I’d really love to see you.” I wanted nothing more than to be released from the consuming emotions, and being in Evan's arms was exactly what I needed.
“Ah, I um,” Evan stumbled, a few voices hollered in the background as he stalled.
“Are you ready?” I heard a girl ask, sounding closer.
“Just a second,” he answered her. My heart skipped a beat, knowing exactly who she was. “I just, uh, promised Analise that I’d take her to Jeff’s party. It’s her first one and she doesn’t know many people yet. But I can see if she can go with someone else or something. Let me―”
“It's okay.” I tried to sound unaffected, despite the pain twisting in my chest. “You go. I'm pretty tired anyway.”
“Em, are you sure?”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” I said, swallowing against the tightness in my throat, forcing the emotion out of my voice. “It’s been a stupid night, and I’m really exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow?” My voice shook despite my efforts. I closed my eyes to fend off the tears.
“Okay,” he answered, and before he could say anything else, I hung up the phone. I stood in the middle of the kitchen with the broom in my hand, trying to breathe against the swelling in my chest.
I took a deep breath before opening my eyes, turning everything off until I felt nothing. Then I began sweeping up my mother’s fit.
“Let me help you.”
I turned to find Jonathan in the doorway. I didn’t answer as he filled the mop bucket with soap and water and began wiping the wine that was running down the cabinets. We remained silent while we cleaned.
After bringing the bag of broken glass outside to the trash, I collapsed on the second step in the foyer, covering my face in my hands with my elbows propped on my legs, emotionally drained. Jonathan shut off the kitchen light and sat next to me.
“What’s going to happen now?” I asked without looking up. “Did you end things with her?”
“I wasn’t about to do that in her condition,” he explained lowly. “I’m sorry you had to see any of that. It really wasn’t about you.”
I lifted my head. “I have no idea what happened tonight, but she was so... angry. I think she does blame me, but I don't know what I did.”
Jonathan shook his head in contradiction. “This is between me and Rachel. It has nothing to do with you.”
“But you are going to leave her now, aren't you?” I concluded dryly.
Jonathan was quiet for a moment. “Do you want me to stay?”
My eyes tightened, not sure how to answer. I didn't know exactly what he was asking.
“If I left right now, would it be worse for you... to live here?”
“Don’t worry about me,” I assured him without much conviction. “That wouldn’t be the right reason to stay anyway. It would only be worse in the end, for everyone. She’ll just have to get over you.”
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he offered in a hushed tone.
“Me too,” I breathed. He peered at me with sympathetic eyes, pulling me in. It took me a moment before I was able to break away. “I think I’ve had enough drama tonight, so I’m going to bed.”
“And I should go,” he responded, standing with me. I paused in my ascent when he opened the door.
“Good-bye, Jonathan.”
“I’m not leaving you, Emma,” he assured me. “If you ever need me, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I answered, exhaustion heavy in my voice. I watched him disappear behind the closed door and continued to my room.
As I pulled the blankets over me, my phone beeped. I’m coming over appeared on the screen.
I’m in bed. I’ll see you in the morning, I typed back.
10am, my house?
OK.
I sunk under the blankets, not looking forward to seeing anyone in the morning―not even Evan.